Croc Hunt
by Muzzled
Summary: Massive storms are flooding Gotham City, a little girl has been kidnapped and the prime suspect is Killer Croc. But Batman thinks otherwise. Chapter 7 now up!
1. Chapter 1: The Headlines

Note: Here is chapter one of a series I'm working on for fun. Probably won't be too long. Especially judging by the first chapter.

**Croc Hunt**

Chapter One

The Headlines

**Worst Rain In Two-Hundred Years** read the headlines of the Gotham Gazette as it was hurled from the bike of a thirteen-year-old boy to his neighbours front lawns. The paper fell on soaking wet grass as it absorbed the rain falling from above, making the paper damp and soggy. It felt as thought it would fall apart in Jim Gordon's fingers as he picked it up off the lawn, standing outside in his robe and slippers, looking the part of an old retired man who's highlight was rushing out to read the news the second his thirteen-year-old neighbour delivered it. But in reality, he was only in his forties, and his day would be much more eventful than just reading the headlines.

**Worst Rain In Two-Hundred Years**, it didn't surprise Gordon. So many streets in Gotham had been flooded already, they had to put up some police barricades to block off some parts of the city so cars didn't get trapped in the rising water levels.

The sewer drains were overflowing, with muck, dirt, rain and sewer water fountaining out. The Gotham Harbour reported the highest levels on record, some houses and buildings near the docks even had to be evacuated.

If things didn't change, then a massive flood would be on Gotham's hands, and Gordon would have to order all of his men to evacuate the city and help as many people as possible. That's not what he wanted, in fact, he didn't even really care or pay much attention to the rain. He was more concerned with another headline on the newspaper, in a small column below the rain article.

**Killer Croc Still At Large**, it said in thick bold writing, **Waylon Jones eludes capture once again**, it reiterated in a smaller font, with a blurry picture of Killer Croc next to the headline. The picture, taken from a distance, it wasn't unlike the kind of picture you'd see of Big Foot. Some hulking animal in the distance, not aware of a camera, not aware of anything but itself, some kind of monster that just happened to be within fifty-feet of someone with a camera.

Technically speaking, Waylon Jones was human. He was born human enough, and he still has the same needs that a human has. But he had the misfortune of being born with a rare skin disorder, an advanced disorder called epidermolytic hyperkeratosis. It causes the skin to blister and bleed, and over time the skin begins to resemble that of reptillian scales. It's a rare disorder, affecting only one in every two-hundred and fifty-thousand births. Waylon Jones was unlucky enough to be that one in two-hundred and fifty-thousand. He drew the shortest straw. Combined that with his abnormally large body mass, strength and height, he began to resemble less of a man and more of a monster.

Not much is known about Waylon Jones, he was abandoned at a young age and ended up living the dream of all young boys – he joined the circus. Not as a clown or an acrobat, but as a freak. A sideshow. Something that all the other normal kids walked passed and pointed at whilst tugging on their mother's dresses.

Years of being treated as a monster finally managed to turn Waylon Jones into a monster. He adopted the name Killer Croc and turned to a life of crime. Since then, he's been behind many hideous and grotesque crimes, sparking all sorts of rumours about him.

Does he actually live in the sewer? Can he breathe under water? Is it true that he actually eats people? These were the sorts of questions that Jim Gordon had to answer at press conferences. He always said no. No, we don't believe he lives in the sewer. No, Mr. Jones is a human and needs oxygen to breathe. No, Waylon Jones does not eat people.

But to be honest, Gordon didn't know. He just said no to relax the public and get the media off of his back. He'd been hearing the rumours for years, and he had even seen his share of evidence that could support such rumours. Broken human bones in the sewers, licked clean. But then rats could have gotten to them. Secret hideaways and lairs under the city streets, but they could belong to any homeless person in Gotham. But with all this flooding, the water was pouring out of the sewers and onto the streets. Maybe that would drive Killer Croc up onto the streets. As much as Gordon wanted to catch Killer Croc and have him behind bars, he'd rather catch him in the sewer. If he was up on the streets with everyone else, then there's no telling what he's capable of.

Gordon looked up at the sky, the dark black sky shadowing the entire city. Rain still pouring down relentlessly as it had been all week, and he sighed. Then he went back inside, dragging his dripping wet newspaper and damp slippers with him, he knew he had a long day ahead of him.


	2. Chapter 2: From the Harbour

**Chapter Two**

**From The Harbour**

Alfred Pennyworth had long been in the employ of the Wayne Family. He had a very close friendship with Thomas and Martha Wayne, serving them for years in their enormous estate. They gave him everything he could ever want, a home, a job and a family. Bruce was the closest thing he had to a son of his own, although he saw him as more of the mischievous nephew he never had.

Some say that a butler would be a demeaning and degrading job, serving someone, having to follow orders and clean up after other people all day long. But Alfred thought otherwise. It was the best job he could have. It wasn't even really a job for him, it was his life. Keeping the Thomas, Martha and Bruce all happy is all that mattered to him. He had everything, until that night almost twenty-years-ago. That night that he had off while Thomas and Martha took Bruce out to see a film. That night that he answered the door anyway.

"Are you Mr. Pennyworth? The butler?" a policeman asked, standing in the doorway, his police car idling in the driveway with the red and blue lights flashing, but the sirens turned off.

"I'm afraid there has been an incident," he said, "Mr. And Mrs. Wayne have been murdered."

Since then, his life revolved around raising Bruce. Raising that nephew he never had. In so many ways, Alfred lost his family that night. Thomas and Martha, both of them gone. Victims of Gotham City. But Bruce was young, he saw it all, his innocence was taken in that one moment.

Two shots. And his life was changed.

Alfred devoted his life to raising Bruce to the best of his abilities. How Thomas and Martha would have wanted. Would they have wanted their son to grow up fighting crime? Maybe not. But no one will ever really know. No one even really knows Bruce's motivation to fight crime. Is he really as righteous and virtuous as he claims to be, trying to save Gotham City and drive out the criminal element that have taken and changed so many lives? Or was he simply out for revenge. Bloodthirsty and angry, wanting vengeance for what this city did to his parents, did to his entire life.

Bruce would claim that it's not about avenging his parents, it's not about satisfaction, it's not about him, it's about Gotham and making it safe. Making it so people don't have to be scared to leave their homes.

Alfred stepped down the large curved staircase into the darkness of what Bruce jokingly called "The Batcave." It was his lair, his method of escapism, putting on a cape and going into his cave. That's when he would cease to be Bruce Wayne, CEO of Wayne Industries and become Batman, The Dark Knight.

In Alfred's hands was a silver platter, on top of the platter was a bowl of soup with a side of bread and a glass of red wine.

"Your dinner sir," Alfred said, placing the platter on the table next to Bruce.

Bruce sat there in his chair, half in costume, his mask and cape weren't on, but the rest of his suit was. In front of him was a giant computer screen, taking up a large portion of the wall in front of him. At his fingertips were various keys, buttons and knobs, all controlling one of the most powerful computers in the world.

Bruce Wayne had the computer designed to be fast, powerful, reliable and have access to any intranet in the world. If he needed a file on someone, his computer would be able to get it.

"It's chicken soup sir, you'll be needing to eat something warm if you plan on going out in the cold tonight," Alfred recommended.

"Thankyou Alfred," Bruce noted without looking away from the screen.

The most powerful computer in the world and he still couldn't find out where Waylon Jones was hiding.

"Master Wayne, might I suggest taking a night off? You've been out searching for this crocodile man for weeks. If he has any sense, he'll be staying inside hiding from the rain tonighth, as you should be too sir."

"I can't Alfred," Bruce stated, pushing more buttons, bringing up more files on his screen, "the more time I waste, the more lives Jones will take. Besides, if what they're saying on the news is true, and Gotham is headed for a flood, then maybe that will flush Croc out in the open."

A red light began flickering on the screen with the words _relevant news alert _glowing on the screen. Bruce clicked it, bringing up a streaming video from a news website. On the screen was a red haired woman, done up in make up with a microphone brought up to her mouth. In the background, waves were smashing against rickety boardwalks, boats were rocking up and down on the heavy current and a mist seemed to fog up the surroundings. The sound of heavy rain and hail pelting against tin warehouses sounded more like machinegun fire an

"_THIS IS VICKI VALE, REPORTING AT GOTHAM HARBOUR,"_ the woman on the screen had to yell into the microphone as loud as she could as strong gusts of wind lapped against her and the video camera filming her, "_WHERE A KIDNAPPING HAS OCCURED, ACCORDING TO WITNESSES, A YOUNG GIRL WAS CARRIED OFF FROM A BOAT DOCKED HERE BY A LARGE DEFORMED MAN IN A TRENCH COAT. THE POLICE ARE SPECULATING THAT IT COULD BE THE WORK OF WAYLON JONES, ALSO KNOWN AS THE KILLER CROC!" _

By the time Alfred had picked up the platter of soup, Bruce had already put his mask on and was turning the ignition on in the Batmobile.

Another night of crimefighting for Bruce, and another night home alone for Alfred, with his only surviving family out searching for a seven-foot tall crocodile at the Gotham Harbour.


	3. Chapter 3: Alone In The Clocktower

**Chapter Three**

**Alone In The Clocktower**

Imagine spending every day of your life running, jumping and fighting. Spending hours in the gym every morning to stay in shape, working and studying during the day, then spending night time fighting criminals on the street. Helping the police take down dangerous men. Violent men.

Imagine standing in the shower, finding a new set of bruises and grazes on your body everyday, as the seering hot water bursts onto the skin over your newly acquired wounds, yet you still feel great. You feel like everything's right.

Imagine spending your evening fighting sick psychotic super criminals that hatch such horrible schemes that involve the mass murder of countless men, women and children. Facing off with these insane people every night of your life... and loving it.

Imagine being able to break a man's nose, dislocate his shoulder and handcuff him to prevent a bank robbery, then going to bed and sleeping like a log that night, because you know that you're making a difference. You're slowly but surely making things right in the world. You're helping. You're putting your body and your health on the line every night for a good cause.

Imagine being shot in the spine just for opening the door.

Imagine have a homicidal maniac taking pictures of you naked, on the floor, in shock, as paralysis begins to set in.

Imagine waking up to a room full of police, journalists and doctors, then being told that you will never walk again.

You will never stand up again.

You will never go out at night and fight crime.

You will never make a difference again. Not like you used to.

Barbara Gordon didn't need to this. She was living this nightmare. A few years ago, someone knocked on the door late one night. She answered it casually, expecting a friend, instead, she was met with The Joker. She was shot in the spine, and has since been bound to a wheelchair, unable to walk.

Barbara Gordon used to be Batgirl. She fought side by side with Batman, Robin and Nightwing. She swung from rooftops, glided through the air like it was as natural as walking. Now she hasn't stood up on her own two-feet in years.

But there has always been more to Barbara than athleticism and a desire to fight crime. She's always been smarter than she would even admit. Even Bruce himself may think of her as an intellectual superior to her in some respects, though he'd never admit that either.

She stayed on fighting crime with Batman, but obviously not at the front lines, but in her wheelchair in the secluded Gotham City clocktower. Way up top where her base was at, in the darkness, hearing the bells chime every hour. She got used to the sound though. Like moving into a house next to the train tracks, you get used to freight trains making a racket at all hours of the night. Although the constant thundering and the pattering of the rain outside against the roof and walls added a level of annoyance to the bells chiming.

"Oracle," a voice came over the computer speakers at the top of the clocktowers. Barbara's base of operations. At night, she wasn't Batgirl any more, but she still wasn't Barbara Gordon. Instead she was known as Oracle. She relayed information to Batman. Reconnaisance mostly. News alerts, traffic alerts, profiles on criminals. Anything Batman needed, she could hack into files and find out from her base. Her computers designed in the same way that the computer in the Batcave was.

"I'm here Batman," Oracle replied, wheeling her chair over in front of the computer screen.

"You heard about the Croc sighting earlier this evening right?" Batman asked.

"Of course," Oracle said bluntly, "I figured you'd be onto that. I've already brought up all the witness reports and data on it I could find. About the crime, the area, the victim."

"The victim?"

"Yes, it's a girl, 13-years-old, Cassie Spokes. She was on her father's yacht when a man, probably Croc, dragged her away while her parents weren't watching. The parents realised she was missing a few minutes later, some witnesses on the docks said that they'd seen a man carrying a girl away but they didn't follow. That's when the parents filed a police report," Oracle explained, reading through the files on her computer.

"Any escape routes in the area you know of?"

"That depends, what kind of escape routes would I be looking for?" Oracle asked.

"Storm drains. Big ones. If Croc is hiding in the sewers, that's where he would have taken her," replied Batman's voice, crackling over the computer frequency.

"Obviously there are a lot of manholes and drains granting access to the sewers, but for someone of Killer Croc's size, he'd need something bigger. There's an old access tunnel at the south end of the harbour that leads out into the ocean. It's more than big enough for Croc to fit through, and I believe after a bit of a hike it leads to the subway system."

"Great, thanks Oracle," Batman replied.

"But wait," Oracle interrupted, "that's not a definite answer though. What if he's not in the sewers? There are several abandoned warehouses around the harbour that he could be hiding out in. Although a lot of them may be flooded, he is a 'croc' afterall, I'm sure he could set up a base there quite easily."

"I know Oracle, I'm going to check the tunnels that lead into the subway anyway. You contact Robin, get him to investigate the warehouses and search around the harbour for evidence, but tell him not to engage Croc if he finds him. If he finds anything, tell him to report back to either you or me before we do anything," Batman replied before cutting off radio communications.

Oracle sighed. Another long night stuck indoors by herself, remembering old memories where she actually got to fight the bad guys instead of sit at a computer and read about them. But she was still in this for the right cause, her heart was in the right place, she would do whatever she could to help Bruce and Tim, handicapped or not.


	4. Chapter 4: A Guest In The Warehouse

**Chapter Four**

Timothy Drake could think of about a million things he'd rather be doing than this: walking around the Gotham City harbour at ten o'clock at night with high winds, heavy rain and loud thunder, searching through old rickety abandoned warehouses for signs of Killer Croc.

Killer Croc, who had been on the loose for some time now, and had (probably) kidnapped a young girl earlier that day.

He had been through four warehouses already, all he had found were knee deep puddles of water, some broken pallets and an old out of order forklift. But he had to keep going. Those were the orders that Batman had relayed to him through Oracle. He was Robin afterall, this was his job, what he chose to do. Saving lives, fighting crime. If he could find this young girl, Cassie Spokes, that would make spending the night in the cold unforgiving rain worthwhile.

The cold, harsh, sharp rain. It felt like someone had loaded one of those baseball launchers at a playing pitch full of little pebbles and were firing them at him. That's how hard the rain was hitting him. There had to be some hail in it, water couldn't hit that hard, surely.

Whenever he would get too close to the seaside, he would regret it too, a large wave of water would come surging up over the docks and drench him. He had to becareful not to get any closer or else he could find himself washed away. Swept out to sea.

"Robin, Oracle here, are you there?" a voice crackled over the earpiece Robin was wearing.

"Yeah Oracle, I hear you, what's up?" he replied, having to raise his voice over the heavy rainfall.

"Not much, just checking in, Batman's about to search the tunnel, he's just been talking with my dad about the case I think, not much that the GCPD can do to tell us. I was just wondering if you had any luck yet?" Oracle asked optimistically.

"Nope, sorry Oracle. I've searched four warehouses," Robin brushed his dripping wet fringe out of his eyes, "I've found nothing. This water's making me a bit edgey though, unless this rain lets up I think the harbour could get flooded pretty quickly. In any case, I'll keep searching. I'll let you know if I find anything."

Robin approached the fifth warehouse. This one was in the worst state yet. There were many panels in the roof that had fallen apart, and there were several large holes in the walls around the warehouse. It looked as old as Gotham City itself, and hadn't been renovated, in, well, ever. Robin entered nonetheless, only having to tackle the door with his shoulder three times before he was able to break it down. As soon as he did, a stream of rain water came flooding out, as if the door had acted as a dam. It went up to Robin's shins before spreading out over the harbour.

He stepped inside, having to take a few steps down onto the floor, just these few steps had him wading waist-deep in flood water. This part of the harbour had been mostly closed off to the public due to the flooding, but Robin searched through it anyway.

His surroundings made him nervous. This was exactly the sort of place that Waylon Jones would thrive in. Large, dark and wet. He could be hiding in the water somewhere, if he was there. The rain pummelled the roof of the warehouse, as several leaks in the building had the water funnelling through. He couldn't help but think of that poor girl.

That poor, unfortunate, terrified girl. All she did was spend the day at the harbour with her parents. She could be trapped in here, half submerged in dirty warehouse water, a giant monster like croc circling her like a pack of sharks might circle their prey out at sea. Croc with his teeth filed sharply into jaws. Fangs. Whatever you wanted to call them. Giant nails filed into claws that could be classed as weapons. His green skin, blistering and scaling. There was no doubt that this girl would be terrified at that moment.

Noises echoed throughout the entire warehouse, chains rattling, the walls creaking, doors being knocked into the wall by the flood water.

Robin waded past a few empty cargo boxes as he reached into a slim circular pouch attached to his bright yellow utility belt. He slid a cylinder out of it, he twisted the end making it click, causing a beam of light to come out. A torch was more handy here than any amount of batarangs or explosives could be. He needed to be able to see where he was going, to see if there was a crocodile or a little girl in front of him.

As he ventured further into the warehouse, it became harder and harder to see, soon he could only see objets that were in the small circle of yellow light that his torch pointed at. Most of what fell into that yellow ray of light was empty boxes, chains, debris. Mostly water.

Robin came across a door that had a chair, half submerged in flood water, jammed against the door handle. It looked too well placed against the handle of the door to be a coincidence, someone was trying to keep something locked in on the other side. Without thinking, he pulled the chair out of place and pulled the door open against all the flood water.

The room was a small office type room, well at least it was an office. Most of it was water damaged now and hadn't been used in years.

"Mmmph!" a light mumbling came from the middle of the room.

Robin shined the torch into the cente of the room, and there he saw it. Cassie Spokes - the young thirteen-year-old girl, blonde hair, blue eyes, in her little sunday dress that her parents gave her – tied up in the centre of the room and gagged.

Robin raced to her without a thought, telling her it's going to be okay, assuring her that she's safe now, that it's over, that her parents are waiting for her at home. He pulled her gag out, the young girl sobbed uncontrollably out of fear.

"H-h-he's still here somewhere," she cried, "h-he told m-me that I was an important guest. He's w-waiting for the other g-guests," she sobbed looking at Robin. Then her eyes grew wide with shock.

"Who? What other guest are coming?" Robin asked.

"You've already arrived," a strange voice came from the darkness behind Robin.

Before Robin could react, he felt a blunt object strike the back of his head, hard. Then he felt nothing as he fell into unconsciousness, and young Cassie Spokes resumed her crying.


	5. Chapter 5: Not Quite As Mad As A Hatter

**Chapter Five**

**Not Quite Mad As A Hatter**

The rain pelted Batman like tiny stones. It felt like the storm above him was firing a BB gun relentlessly at him, even through his armoured kevlar suit, he could still feel it as he approached the drainage tunnel at Gotham Harbour. The tunnel led straight out to sea, and would pour excess rainwater from the storm drains in Gotham out into the ocean. Needless to say, water was fountaining out of it as storm drains on the streets of Gotham had been overflowing. There was still space for Batman to crawl into it though, regardless of the outpour of dirty storm water.

He climbed down from the docks of the harbour so he was sitting, perched on top of the tunnel, watching the water flowing out of it and spraying into the sea below.

"Batman," Oracle's voice crackled over his headset, "Robin's had no luck in the warehouses thus far, he's still searching though."

"Good, let me know if he finds anything," Batman replied.

"Okay... Don't suppose you've had any luck? What did my Dad have to say?"

"Not much, he's nervous about this storm, he wants Killer Croc behind bars before it gets any worse, I think he's prepared to use some extreme force if he has to. Can't say I blame him," Batman replied as he edged his way down into the tunnel, getting his feet soaked. He reached into his belt, his inventive, bright yellow belt, full of all sorts of tools and gadgets that have gotten him out of trouble more times than he could count, and he pulled out his grappling hook. A small compact black rectangle shaped box with a hook concealed at the end, inside of it was several metres of coiled cable. With a press of the button, the hook launched from the rectangle with enough pressure and kick to knock back to the toughest of men. The cable shot far down into the tunnel into the distance until it attached itself to something, probably a wall or a pipe. Batman tugged on the gun, there was no slack, it was tense, it had grappled something strong enough to withstand his strength and weight. He clipped the grappling hook back onto his belt, then proceeded to pull himself forward through the flooding water that was running past his knees.

"What kind of force are we talking about?" Oracle asked.

"Extreme. Excessive. He's got a SWAT team on standby to send into the sewers, and you know what they're like," Batman said with a somewhat disapproving tone.

"I know, shoot to kill first, then ask questions later, if at all," Oracle sighed.

"Exactly. Let me know if Robin radios in, over and out."

The tunnels became darker and darker as he ventured further in, fortunately, bats thrive in the dark. It was just a matter of Batman switching on the night vision in his mask, then he could see everything.

Water fell down from the storm drains above. On the top of the tunnel were the streets around Gotham Harbour, almost all of them flooded with traffic having to be diverted so no cars would get stuck. All that flood water, washing down and pummelling Batman as he endured through the darkness.

The current became stronger and stronger, to the point that if Batman didn't have the cable from his grappling hook tied around his waist, he'd probably be washed away out to sea with the rest of the dirt, grime and garbage in this tunnel. He kept on wading nevertheless until he could see the end of his grappling cable. The hook was twined around a gate. An old rusty, steel gate at the end of the tunnel. The gate was made up of old bars, that probably once had some colour painted on them, but decades of no sunlight and water and sewage washing over it just made it shades of dark grey and crimson and brown. Rusted. The gate had a padlock on it, but Batman didn't even bother to pull out his lockpick. He easily gripped the steel bars and forced a few of them off of the gate, giving him room to gather up his grappling hook and climb through to the other side of the gate.

Batman was now in another tunnel, it seemed to be a maintenance one, full of pipes, circuits and drains. Fortunately there was no rushing water in this one, save for a few leaks from overhead. But there were noises, not of leaks or water, or even of rats scurrying around the edges of the maintenance tunnel, but of footsteps further ahead in the tunnel. Large, heaving, dragging footsteps. Slow, not alert. Whoever it was, they didn't know Batman was in the same tunnel as them. That's how Batman wanted it to stay, at least for now.

Batman kept his head low as he crept forward swiftly, making as little sound as possible. There was a light ahead, a dim one, but it was still a light. Batman switched off his night vision, not wanting to be blinded as he approached the dim light. The foot steps had stopped, but Batman kept going until he was right under the light. The light was a dim flickering lamp, right next to a large steel door. He assumed the footsteps had come from, or at least, led into the room on the other side of the door.

Cautiously, Batman turned the handle, but to no avail. He then looked along the edges of the door and was surprised to see it welded shut. No way in, no way out. Maybe the footsteps didn't come from here anyway?

But then, a large moan came from the other side of the welded door. A moan, or a groan, or a yawn. It was some kind of a noise that was worth investigating.

There was no need to stay quiet any more, there was no way anyone was getting through that door without making a lot of noise. Batman pulled out yet another handy gadget. Another gun that didn't fire bullets. This one sprayed a pale blue gel that he used to line the edges of the door. A gel that looked as innocent as shaving cream or styling mousse but was as dangerous as block of C4 or a bundle of dynamite. It was probably the only gadget that Batman carried on him that made him nervous. It was extremely sensitive and took him years of testing before he deemed it safe enough to carry in his belt. Fortunately, it would now only react to extreme temperatures or a detonator, that of course, also sat in Batman's utility belt.

The explosion from the gel echoed all down the maintenance tunnel as Batman took cover a few feet away. After all the smoke had disappeared, he could see the ones strong, welded steel door, bent in half on the ground in the tunnel, burnt and singed.

"Is somebody there?" a voice echoed from the room that Batman had literally just blasted his way into.

Batman entered and looked around the room. It was well lit, compared to the rest of the tunnels he had just been exploring. There was a coat hanger in the corner that had a large trench coat and hat hanging off of it. There was a small refrigator, an old television set with a coathanger antenna, a small dining table with a tea set on it, and even music playing from an old record player. Old music from the 30's, Billie Holiday. It made Batman feel as though he were stepping back in time about seventy or eighty years just by entering the room. In the far corner of the room, he could see a large bed, a king size bed, with an equally large figure sitting on the end of it. A large, seven-foot tall figure, with greenish skin that resembled lizard scales. Teeth that resembled jaws. It was Waylone Jones. Killer Croc.

"Croc," Batman said urgently, reaching to his utility belt, his fingers lining the edge of a batarang.

"Who? Who's croc?" the lizard looking man asked.

"What are you doing here... Waylon?" Batman asked, somewhat confused.

"Yes, Waylon, I'm Waylon, that's me... Not... Not _Croc_. I don't know who that is," he stood up from the bed, Batman made sure he had a firmer grip on his batarang in case he tried something. Regardless of what he referred to himself as, Waylon Jones was a dangerous man. Large, violent, merciless. Someone that Batman did not like having to fight, especially not alone.

"Okay then Waylon... Where's Cassie Spokes? What have you done with her?" Waylon stood at the end of the dining table, Batman stood at the opposite end, still holding onto his batarang that was sitting in his utility belt.

"Wh-who? I don't know, who is she?"

"You know who I'm talking about... Little girl, blonde, only thirteen-years-old. Last seen up on the Gotham Harbour earlier today. Kidnapped by a large man in a trench coat and a hat, much like the coat and hat hanging up on your hanger over there."

"I honestly don't know what you're talking about... Batman, isn't it?" Waylon asked.

This was not like Croc. Killer Croc didn't talk. Not much. And he wasn't the type to dance around or deny things, at least not like this. The response Batman was expecting from Croc was immediate violence. An attempt at ripping his head off. Killer Croc at his most hospitable would be dealing out death threats while licking his fangs, not standing relaxed and having a civilised conversation. Something was wrong.

"Are you okay, Waylon?" asked Batman.

"I think so, I've been a little groggy, I haven't had much to eat lately, or much to drink for that matter, except for the tea and biscuits that were left behind for me. See that buzzer over there," Waylone pointed at an old round speaker hanging in the top corner of the room, "every seven hours, I have to have a cup."

"A cup of tea?" Batman asked, loosening his grip on his batarang.

"Yes, tea," Waylon confirmed as he sat down at the dining table, with the pot of tea and two cups in front of him, all laid out on a tray, with a saucer next to it that had some round cinammon biscuits on it, "every seven hours that buzzer goes off... if I don't drink the tea, then, I die... Or so I'm told."

"Who told you this?"

"The guy that gave me the drink in the first place... he... he poisoned my water a few weeks ago. I was swimming in it, here in the lower tunnels. Some of it got in my mouth, it tasted weird. When I got out of the water, he was standing there. Told me that the water was poisoned, that it would make me crazy. That I would go mad, unless I had the cure. Hah, you wouldn't believe it, I grabbed him by the shoulders, I was about ready to rip his arms out of his sockets the poor guy, haha. Anyway, he told me he could get me the cure, he brewed it in some tea and gave it to me. He told me that I have to keep drinking the tea, or else, the poison in the water would take hold and that would be the end of me. He was a nice guy though, I was lucky he was there and had the antidote for me. He was even willing to make this little room up for me so I can have access to the cure, and so I don't go out and bother anyone with my sickness."

Waylon picked up the pot of tea, and began pouring it into one of the cups, "I don't suppose, Batman, that you're a little thirsty? That guy does make a hell of a pot of tea," Waylon said, smiling his toothy grin as he extended his arm with a cup of tea out to Batman.

"Oracle, come in," Batman spoke into his headset.

"I'm here, any news?" Oracle's voice came over the other end.

"I've found Croc... He's unconscious."

"Well that's a relief, you should go tell my Dad, he'll be happy this is all over with."

"No, it's not over Oracle. Not by a longshot. The girl isn't here, I don't think Croc was the one that took her."

"What? What do you mean? But you found him, you knocked him out."

"No. I didn't knock him out, he knocked himself out. I found him in a walled off room in a maintenance tunnel down here. It looks like he's been locked in here for some time. He's been drinking some kind of tea that's been spiked. It's been sedating him, and, in a word, taming him. When I confronted him, he didn't try to kill me, all he wanted to do was talk over a cup of tea. Someone else is behind this, I think Waylon Jones is just as much as victim as Cassie Spokes."

"What do you mean? It has to be Croc. Only he could fit the bill for that kidnapper. He's been known to hang around the area, he's been on the loose for a while, he's a known killer, and you found him close to the crime scene. Who else it could be? Maybe he's just playing games with you."

"No. Not Croc. He doesn't play games. The Riddler, The Joker, The Penguin, they all play games. Croc's different. He's too blunt, too violent, too dumb to play games. I'm taking him back to the Batcave to be examined, and I'll examine this tea as well... I think I know who's behind all of this.

"You're taking him to the cave? Are you mad?"

"Maybe... Not quite mad as a hatter though."

"What?"

"Nevermind. Call Robin, tell him to meet me back at the cave. Tell him, we've still got work to do."


	6. Chapter 6: Alfred's Pride

**Chapter Six**

**Alfred's Pride**

Alfred Pennyworth had fallen into a routine with Bruce. He would get up in the morning, have his breakfast ready by nine, lunch ready at twelve-thirty and dinner ready at seven. In between meals, he would tidy the house. Well, tidy the mansion. Cleaning a mansion the size of Wayne Manor was a job suited for maybe fifteen to twenty professional cleaners working about four hours a day each. Alfred always had his work cut out for him. Always.

But working for the Wayne family was never a chore. He had all the respect in the world for Thomas and Martha Wayne, and saw it as his duty to raise Bruce in the best way possible.

Alfred wandered down into the cave, the night growing later. He heard the motor of the Batmobile in the distance. Bruce was home rather early tonight, considering he'd normally stay out getting beaten black and blue until sunrise.

Bruce had so many options. So many possible futures. Alfred always wondered what he would become as he was raising him after the shooting of Bruce's parents. He always fancied the idea of Bruce becoming a doctor like his father, and in a way, like Alfred, who was a decorated military medic. But young Bruce had always shown an affinity for the law and justice. It wouldn't have surprised him if he grew up to become a lawyer, or even the district attorney. Maybe that could've opened up a door into politics and Bruce Wayne could have become the Mayor of Gotham City. Bruce had a lot of options.

But he chose this.

The lights of the Batmobile were clearly visible down the other end of the tunnel in the Batcave.

So many successful potential futures. But Bruce dedicated his life to fighting crime. Not as a police officer or a detective, but as something else. He devoted his nights to tracking down thugs, criminals, villains, monsters. He dedicated his life to pummelling them to a bloody pulp.

Superhero, detective, crusader, protector, vigilante, criminal, monster: call him what you will. But no matter how Gotham looked at Bruce, behind his black mask and under his cape, Alfred couldn't have been prouder of him. Most people would've signed the commitment papers to Arkham Asylum and shoved Bruce in there with the rest of the crazies if he had told them that he wanted to dress up like a bat and fight crime at night. Billionaire Bruce Wayne should have better things to do at night then wearing silly costumes. But Alfred saw the good that Bruce was trying to do. He saw sincerity in his gesture and his mission, he didn't see cold blooded vengeance or thrill-seeking in his eyes the night that Bruce told Alfred what he was going to become, he saw a cause. That first night that Bruce put his cape and mask on, Alfred watched him leaving the Batcave. He didn't see an insane revenge fueled trust fund baby with too much time on his hands, he saw a young man going to war to fight for what he believed in. To stand up for what little good and innocence was left in Gotham City.

Alfred couldn't have been prouder.

"What on earth's name is that doing here?" Alfred exclaimed as soon as the hatch on top of the Batmobile opened. Batman hopped out of the driver's seat, his cowl still damp and smelling a little bit like a sewer.

"That," Batman pointed to the unconscious figure in the passenger's seat, "is Killer Croc."

"I can see that," Alfred noted, keeping his distance from the Batmobile, "but I have to say, this is a bit of a rash move even for you to make, bringing a cold-blooded wanted murderer here to your home."

"He's been drugged Alfred," Batman let out a heave as he hauled Croc out of the Batmobile, "I don't believe him to be the kidnapper."

Alfred wheeled over a stretcher bed next to the Batmobile. If he had a dollar for every time Bruce had sat down on the stretcher while he stitched him up, Alfred could probably afford to buy his own mansion rather than live in Wayne Manor.

"I've also got this sample that I need to analyse," Batman said as he helped Alfred push the stretcher holding Killer Croc over to the medical area in the cave.

"What is it?" Alfred asked.

Batman pulled a small vial out of his utility belt, containing a sample of the formula that was in the cup of tea that Croc was drinking under the Gotham Harbour, "I'm not sure... some kind of sedative I think. Croc isn't himself, he didn't even try to attack me when I found him. Instead he offered me some tea and wanted to make some conversation."

Alfred made sure that Killer Croc was well secure in the stretcher with his arms and legs strapped down to the bed in case he awoke and became restless. He didn't like the idea of restraining someone like this, but of course, a wanted serial killer is an exception.

"Oracle to Batman, are you there?" Oracle's voice sounded fast and frantic, nervous of something as it came through the headset inside Batman's mask.

"I'm here Oracle, what's the problem?" Batman replied.

"It's Robin, he won't answer. I've been trying to contact him for the past two hours, he won't respond."

"When was the last time you heard from him? Do you know where he was?" Batman asked while Alfred examined Croc in the background.

"He was at an abandoned warehouse back at the harbour. Maybe he got caught up in the floods? What if he's drowned?"

"Or maybe the water has just damaged his communicator. Robin's smart, he won't let himself get locked away in a flooding room. But I'll go check it out anyway," Batman answered as he moved back to his car.

"Okay, you're right. I'm sending you his last known coordinates to the Batmobile's computer. I just... I hope he's okay."

"He'll be fine, Tim will be fine. He's endured a lot worse than some rain before Barbara," Batman turned to Alfred, "I'm going back to the harbour. If Robin turns up, tell him where I am."

Batman climbed back into the driver's seat of the Batmobile, "And if this _thing_ awakens?" Alfred asked.

"Knock him out again. Oh... and analyse that sample would you? Croc should be fine for now."

Alfred sighed as he watched Bruce drive back out of the cave again. He looked back down to the unconscious monster laying before him. His arms and ankles bound only by some leather straps. The size of this monster, it looked like he could break through concrete if he wanted. He took one last look at the tunnel leading out of the Batcave, seeing the lights of the Batmobile fade away in the distance, and Alfred reminded himself how he couldn't have been prouder.


	7. Chapter 7: Guest Of Honour

**Chapter Seven**

**Guest Of Honour  
**

The room was dark. Almost pitch black, but there was some moonlight coming in from what looked like a cellar window in the top corner of the room. Robin opened his eyes for the first time in about an hour. He couldn't feel much except for a horrible ache where he'd been struck over the head and cold. Freezing cold. He looked down and saw the predicament he was in. He was in the middle of a small dark room, still in the warehouse. Water was filling the room rapidly from various cracks, holes and vents in the room. He was seated in an old rickety wooden chair with his feet bound to the legs of the hair, and his hands behind the back of the chair, they were tied to something else. Tied to the hands of a young thirteen-year-old girl. Cassie Spokes. Only thirteen.

"Help!" she screamed, "help!" Hours of crying, sobbing and begging had relented her to one word: Help.

"I'm... I'm awake, Cassie?" Robin, still regaining his composure, tried to evaluate the situation.

"The room's flooding!" she cried, "I'm so cold, we're going to die aren't we?"

"No, don't even think that," Robin said, shooting down her teenage cynicism, "I've been in worse situations. We'll get out of this, trust me."

The storm had hit hard since he was knocked unconcscious. It was almost as if the storm was attacking Gotham, purposefully trying to drown it. Cleanse it. If Robin were a strongly religious hero, he'd think it were some kind of rapture, or maybe that all the sin in Gotham City had offended God so much that he just had to flood it and drown every murderer and kidnapper in the city. But then if that were true, why was a thirteen-year-old girl left to drown in some abandoned warehouse?

"Oracle, I need some help," Robin said into his communicator, all he could hear were the sounds of thunder outside and water pouring into the room. He tilted his head a little bit, "Oracle... can you hear me?"

"W-w-who are you talking to?" Cassie asked, still bound behind Robin.

"... Nobody it sounds like. We're going to have to get out of this ourselves," Robin replied.

The water was now above their waists, reaching Robin's chest. It was almost up to Cassie's chin. Robin struggled with the ropes, but he didn't want to pull too hard out of fear of hurting Cassie. He was tied to the chair tight. The only thing he could do would be reach into his utility belt. Bruce might pack those belts with all sorts of random ridiculous gadgets, but everyone of them has come in handy.

"Please do s-something," the little girl cried.

Robin had enough room in the ropes to manouevre his hands to his waist. But his belt wasn't there. It was nowhere to be found. His and Cassie's last hope was gone. His communicator was gone and so was his utility belt along with every single gadget inside of it. And now the water was raising higher and higher, past Robin's chest. Cassie had to tilt her head back to breathe.

But why would they be left to drown like this? If the guy who put Robin and this little girl in the room together wanted them dead, why didn't he just shoot them? He had enough time, why leave them in a room to drown. He wasn't even in the room and couldn't see it happen, he wouldn't get any enjoyment out of it. If he was killing them out of convenience, he would've done it hours ago. Besides, what kind of convenience would there be in killing Cassie?

"Help!" Cassie began screaming that one word again. It was useless, the harbour was off limits because of the floods. Besides, anyone nearby wouldn't hear a little girl's voice over such an intense storm. But at least she was doing something, which was more than Robin could say.

But then they were saved. The water began flooding back out of the room, just as quickly as it poured in. It all flushed out a doorway in the corner of the room that just swung open. A figure stood in the doorway as the water rushed through, soaking the bottom of his legs. The water was now a low enough level so that it was just ankle deep.

"Who are you?" Robin asked the figure as it stepped into the room, "let the girl go and you can have me, just, just let her go."

The figure stepped into what little light there was in the room. Tall, dark trenchcoat, wild grey hair, top hat and the one of the creepiest smiles you'd ever see. Up there with The Joker's.

This was The Mad Hatter. Return visitor at Arkham Asylum, he's always had an obsession with Lewis Caroll's Alice in Wonderland, hence the name and appearance of The Mad Hatter.

"Why, let her go? But she's my guest of honour, she can't be going anywhere just yet my boy," The Mad Hatter replied in a strange voice that seemed to change in pitch as he spoke, "and you. You are going to be a guest too. Tea parties need guests. I was afraid that you might be a bit too dangerous, maybe you'd get free and tell your friends and that it was all me and take all the attention away from the lizard man that I left underground, but without your utility belt, you don't seem to be so dangerous any more, haha!"

"What do you want Hatter?" Robin demanded, struggling in his ropes. Cassie seemed to be silent with fear at this point.

"Just a nice, fun little tea party with my dear Alice," Hatter stepped forward and stroked a finger down Cassie's cheek, "I have to say, the lady on the end of your little walkie-talkie gadget sounded quite fetching, if maybe a little frantic and panicked."

"Oracle?"

"What a disgusting name. Whatever happened to pretty innocent names like Sally, Lucy or heh, Alice?"

Robin struggled against the ropes. It was useless though. All he could do was stall for time. Oracle should have had his last coordinates, with any luck she would have alerted Batman by now and he would be on his way.

"Whatever you're planning Hatter, you should give it up now. Maybe Batman will be a bit lenient on you when he gets here then, give you a slightly comfier padded cell for your next stay in Arkham," Robin tried to threaten.

"Ha.. Haha.. What kind of an imbecile do you take me for? If I figured out that you were have a communications network set up between you, Batman and this _Oracle_ character, then it wouldn't be difficult to remove any sort of GPS tracking device in that little belt of yours. We're nowhere near the warehouse you were searching, we're in a different warehouse now. But don't fret, we'll be leaving soon for the tea party."

Before Robin could respond, Hatter pulled out a small brown bottle and a cloth from his jacket pocket. He poured the bottle onto the cloth, then covered Robin's face with it. In seconds he was unconscious once again, he then did the same Cassie.

* * *

"Oracle, come in," Batman said into his cowl.

"Yes? Have you found him? Have you found Robin? Is he okay?" Oracle replied over the communicator.

"I'm here at the abandoned warehouse. I don't see Robin or any sign of a struggle. But it wouldn't be hard to hide evidence here in the condition that this building is in. And I've checked all the others too."

"Oh God... What if... What if something has-"

"Calm down Oracle. Robin's smart, and he's stronger than any of us give him credit for. I'm going to keep searching, you should keep trying to contact him."

"Okay... okay. I'm sorry. I'll keep a look out, I'll try and contact Nightwing too. Goodluck."

"He'll be okay Barbara. Trust me."

"I do."

* * *

**I'd just like to use this space to thank the people that have been reading this and especially reviewing. It's great to know that people out there are enjoying this story. I'm hoping to have it finished in the next three chapters. You all know who the culprit is now, Killer Croc's innocent... or is he?**

I'll try and not be slow with the next few chapters. You keep reading and I'll keep writing :)  



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